An Unconditional Life

An apology for not having grasped the worth of the finest man that God sent my way

After my grandfather, Teko is another departed soul who touched and positively impacted innumerable lives. A godlike father, dutiful son, loving grandfather, father-figure uncle, great friend, reliable brother, helpful neighbour, an eternal guardian, and the sweetest spouse you will ever see. Effortlessly playing each role to its best, the finest specimen of each I have seen.

Selfless, simple, non-judgemental, sacrificing, uncomplaining, at most times invisible and absolutely unconditional expecting nothing in return. Holding the golden umbrella, shielding the person, when required or showing them the guiding light or simply just doing nothing but being there without any encumbrances or weight of his presence. All of this coming naturally, with no realisation of the greatness and carrying it as unassumingly as his crumpled white pyjama.

My heart breaks each time I think of Mun and Maa the two souls whose life will have a gaping hole now. To Mun he was not just a father but a life blood, a God who never put a foot wrong and who only gave her happy memories. To Maa he was like the very air that she used to get her life from. I cannot empathise with eithers' grief fully and but I am trying to understand the struggle to reconcile with the sudden unexpected loss of a man who was a part of their being and who was virtually immortal till a month back. 

My heart bleeds each time my memories of him flash before my mind. The last time when I was flying to India, I was busy planning his 50th wedding anniversary. I cannot comprehend that nearly three years later, I sit on a plane rushing to attend his post-death rituals. Just four months back the man himself was making the same trip back home with the hope of visting us again in NZ.

 

His death is one more reminder of the Indian healthcare system, where most doctors and hospitals don't yet realise their true responsibility of dealing with lives but continue to see each person under their care as mere patients.

This is real grief. The sudden and unexpected nature of his death is a shock to the system. He was so reliable that those near him never imagined him to leave them and go. I am sure each life he has touched is crying in its own way and dealing with the grief. I hope during this time, as we are together as a family, lending a shoulder to each other to cry on, we all come to terms with it soon. We rather cherish the happy memories we have of him and celebrate one of the finest man that I now know so that we can let him be as he let everyone be. Else I worry his soul will cry and will not be at able to come to terms with his own absence for not being around for his Dipa, Mun or Joy and for having caused them so much grief.

During his recent sickness he told Maa that he will apologise to his grandchildren as the money going to his treatment means he leaves less for them. That was his almost incomprehensible level of selflessness. Incomprehensible for a selfish, judgemental, fool like me who could never fully understand the scale of the man inspite of having so many opportunities to know him in the 24 years that I have known him via Mun. Glimpses that were coloured by my myopic rigid old-school "son-in-law" lens.

Mun asked what has been my happiest memory of Baba. I couldnt make eye contact as I struggled to immediately pin down one. I am sorry Teko for everything and most importantly not including me in your life as fully and unconditionally as you included me in yours and giving the most cherished thing of your life - Mun.

This death is a lesson. I don't want to have "I wish.." moments with my near ones anymore. Set aside your respective lenses and like SPG, treat everyone for what they are worth and make most of your time with them.

This was a man who was truly "Gold Class" and I wish God continue to make them not for the sake others but for the sake of them. People like him make the world a more happier place as he did for Mun and Maa and so many others. Thank you for giving me Mun.

Wherever you go next I am sure you will be the angel, all encompassing and unconditional. Or have you earned your place in heaven? I believe you may have.

Mustard Prawn – Bengal Style

The Basics

• The secret ingredient of this dish – Mustard Powder
• The secret to success of this dish – Do not overcook
• The basic truth about this dish – When you don’t have time and want to impress guest this the dish to go

A bit of a background because food is also about the experience.

The more I travel outside my country, the more I get frustrated with the “bastardised” “Indian” food. Like Europe, India is a collage of different cultures having their own unique climate, which influences their own unique food. Each region having its own unique produce and climate, which influence what is eaten and paraded as the staple diet. The attitudes and social behaviors also guide what they eat, how much they eat, how often they eat and what role food plays in their life.

I come from the state of West Bengal, a state which still claims to be the hot bed of intellectuals. But I still believe when Opu (my brother-in-law) says that it was just a cosmic co-incidence that it became a hot bed of cultural renaissance. A renaissance, even if there was one, was long over with the death of Satyajit Ray.

My grandfather came this state, which was part of the undivided Bengal. They belonged to what was initially East Pakistan and is now called Bangladesh, a country which still has to decide which side they are on.

Bengalees love to eat and live to eat and this dish that I am going describe is ode to the subtle and simplicity of Bengalee cooking. It revolves around 4 critical ingredients that is fundamental to any Bengali kitchen – Prawn, Mustard (the oil and the paste), Turmeric, fresh coconut and fresh green chillies.

The simplicity of this dish runs completely against what most of us get outside India, paraded as “Indian” food. This type of food is only served in some unimaginative parts of the north India. What makes it worse is that this type of food has been further westernized, “creamified” and sweetened for the western palate. A palate which is over simplified, misunderstood and mis-catered by the diaspora of India restaurants across the world.

In this particular world, there is no difference between spicy and hot, where food is assembled using an array of pre-cooked gravy, where the focus is less on food and more on tomatoes and the profitability of the restaurant. At most times, these funny little places with their less funny owners assign the wrong reasons for the success and failure of their restaurants.

While I can write on and on, I rather focus on the dish.

Statutory warning: This dish will have a kick depending on where you procure Mustard Oil from and how you prepare your mustard.

Ingredients that I used that day (and for this visit an Indian Store):

• Prawns (uncooked, the fresher the better, the ones from my hometown are the best)
• Mustard Oil (not the ones from Mexico or Fiji but from India)
• Fresh Green Chillies (sliced)
• Black Mustard seeds (these need to be hand-ground else Coleman Mustard powder is the alternate)
• Turmeric
• Freshly grated coconut (if you are outside India, go with the frozen grated coconut and not desiccated corpses)
• Salt (Of course)
• Unsweetened Yoghurt (optional)
• Fresh Banana Leaves (optional, ideally the light green younger leaves)

The Process

Clean the Prawns and marinate it with turmeric and salt for at least half an hour. Simultaneously stone grind the black mustard seeds with a little salt, water and a couple of green chillies. If you are using mustard powder I would recommend using only Coleman’s unless you are lucky to lay your hands on the Sunrise mustard powder from Kolkata, India. In that case mix it with lukewarm water and salt so that you get a nice paste. Add a dash of mustard oil as well. Let it soak for 10 minutes.

Add the mustard paste to the Prawn. Use a microwaveable bowl which can be cover cooked. Add lots of freshly grated the coconut (thawed frozen ones). Add a good helping of mustard oil (about 4 tablespoons for 500 gm prawns). You can add yoghurt at this stage. Add 3 – 4 fresh green chilllies (sliced). Season the dish and then microwave for 5 minutes.

In case you have fresh banana leaves available, you can place it at the centrer  of bowl and then pour your prawn and cover it with another layer of banana leaves. Once done take it out, stir it well and then add another 2 tablespoons of mustard oil and 2 more fresh green chillies. Microwave for another 3 minutes.

Serve with fresh hot steamed rice and nothing else.

I Miss Life. So will June. Do You?

If the answer to the above question is "No", do not read further. This post, which was written in an early September morning, finally sees the light of the day.

Early today morning, shoulders drooping, head weighed down, my eyes fell on my AVIS Rental contract which is of no use anymore. Just a month back this was one of those many important documents whose loss threatened great challenges. Dodge Nitro it says. It brought a flood of good memories.

Living in the past and worrying about the future - a feature of our life these days.

Kolkata, Indore, Mumbai, Delhi, Kharagpur, Bangalore, Pune, Hyderabad, San Francisco, Copenhagen, Hyderabad, Boston, Chicago - cities that where I have lived and worked in excess of a month.

Kolkata, Pune, Bangalore, Hyderabad, Chicago - cities in which my six year old June has lived for six months or more and we have called "home".

Over the last decade, as I made the painful transition from being just a wayfarer to a working wayfarer (the eternal migrant), I have marvelled at how mobile we have been. Our life (Mun, June and myself) cannot be but more symptomatic of the changing times.

As things like career, job, employability and all past notions around "making a living" continously gets redifined and evolves further into commodified monstrosity, we have moved from place to place and tried to make the best we can.

Everyone of those places we stayed are etched in myriad memories. Memories that are not just black and white but are air brushed with different hues. Hues that together tell our story which is neither happy nor sad, but exciting nevertheless.

Most importantly, these stories remind us of the different people that peppered our lives and helped us along. These are angels without whom our experience would not have been half as enriching.

Recently a very senior colleague mentioned, "What have you been running from?". The question triggered some thoughts and some more retrospection. Some honest crude answers immediately screamed to my mind and belittled my ego once again. A defensiveness which becomes more and more protracted.

To describe me as an escapist, however, will be an over-simplification. However, right across my desk, someone smartly rights, "Dont take yourself so seriously. Nobody Does". Was it coined just for me, to wake me up?

Recently, I feel the need to free myself of the "I". The stories of Matrix and Inception and a recent book that I am reading, makes me wonder, is my life a series of programmed dreams that I am continuously sleeping through.

Our evolving society constantly allows us avenues to free ourselves from the "they" to the "we" and finally to the selfish "I".

While business leaders and the various soft and hard 'social networking tools' remind us to collaborate, we are also coached and cultured to develop our personal brand. Ruthlessness personified, we recognize no one and seeks only the self. Each trying to understand and dissect our own personality. Spectatoring it and then tweaking it to display to others, for them to consume, and digest so that we all can manipulate their perception.

Unconsciously, we want to script a life like a well enacted drama that will have an happy ending for us. An ending which is neither in sight nor can be pictured. An attempt to choreograph every move and orchestrate everything.

Each of these individual dramas are creating "clanks", because in the larger stage everyone is an "I". Unlike Bollywood Friday releases these dramas do not factor each other.

So the world threatens to become increasingly more clanky, less appetizing, more unsavory. I miss life, the life that I see in my father's black and white album, and the life which I never believed could get engulfed in so much complication.

However, I think June will write the same 20 - 30 years from now, regretting the life that she had and she saw her dad living.

So some food for thought if you are done with your sweets.

Happy Diwali!

Rantu Maa

Death comes nearer, kisses and teases me one more time

26 Mar 1986 was the first time I ever had consciousness of death. Before that day, news of death never stirred my senses, never made a difference to "my" life. But this time it was my granddad - a grander man I have never known and whose presence I had gotten used to since my birth. He was bed ridden for three months and his death brought a sense of relief and I thanked god and was happy. Today I have similar feelings about another death.

Rantu Maa, as she was fondly referred to, never became a mother but was no less a mother to Mun. I do not know much details about her life except of what she narrated to me, during the lazy languid afternoons I would spend in her terrace abode on "Tintola (third floor)" in a sleepy Kolkata lane, which Opu says has not changed one bit in the past 20 odd years.

She was one of the many relationships I acquired as a result of my marriage. Relationships which are no less important to me than those more congenital.

It was interesting to hear my girlfriend talk a lot about Rantumaa. It was those days, when love was nascent and fresh, days when you would want to wrap your girlfriend's life around yourself. I was curious to meet Rantu Maa and impress her, since she seemed so special to Mun.

I do not remember my first meeting with her but over time, I slowly got to know a lady who was strong-willed, independant, practical, out-spoken, affectionate and had seen a lot more of life than I ever will.

Rantu Maa could easily symbolize the modernness of Bengal at that time. A culture where women would be thriving and would be big stakeholders of the household and possess a big say in all major decisions.

I heard stories of how she tried to run with the speeding train and in the process injured herself when she was young. How she would drive an Amby - a predominantly man's car and drop her docile doctor hubby to his chamber. How she was denied an opportunity to screen test for a Satyajit Ray film (I never asked about the culprit, I hope it was not Babuji).

My mom often mentioned how impressed she was each time when she would see Rantu, prim and proper, and with that smart hair cut, even when she would be very sick.

I would be amazed to see her energy levels when she was nursing "Babuji" while pushing seventy herself. She would read, stitch, limp through her household work, and would still have energy left. How she would maintain her bank documents, allocating and reallocating funds as if she was sitting on a mountain of wealth to be distributed to the princelings after her time.

I hated to see a person of her agility lose her physical mobility as time progressed. Over the past ten years of my marriage I saw how a hyper active individual would be forced to be a supplicant of her age.

I still cannot accept the withering of our body as time progress and would rather have grand people die grand. Today, I heard how she held the hand of her two brothers and apparently indicated minutes before her death, that her time had finally come. It typefies her, ever conscious of the dark realities of her life and never out of touch.

Honestly, I was praying for it for a while. She always had a sense of humor, rather dark humor. Each of our last conversations would be around this fish called "Koi", a delicacy among us Bongs. A fish which refuses to give up its life, rather cursed. Whenever you bring a Koi fish home (in Kolkata we usually buy live fish), it would be alive right through the dissection process and even wimper in the frying pan.

Recently, I would always refer to her as a "Koi Mach" and how she is cursed to live long. Each time I would meet her during my trips to Kolkata, I would think this was the last time. In my heart of heart, I would wish that her life conditions would change so that her grandeur is reinstated.

This time when I bade good bye during Christmas trip, she said "Aaar dekha hobena". I am both happy and sad that the words came true. While I write this, my eyes swell up whenever I think she is now a part of my past. While the last rites are getting performed miles away now, she forces herself into my present, may be till I visit Kolkata and accept the emptiness of the "tintola (third floor)" of 19/S Abinash Banerjee Lane.

I dearly hope the room is not dismantled for another month (for Mun's sake), so that we can see it one last time. See it the way Rantu Maa would keep it. Neat, tidy and crisp. And I hope I can lie down on her soft bed one last time.

I wish I knew her for a far longer period. Her death, like some recent deaths, brings it much closer to me again. Whenever I take a pause and I look around at my parents' generation, I fear their absence and how we would get used to it with time.

Life's cruel, but death is harsher. It will kiss us all.

Imperfect Past, Future Tense?

There have been many yearnings to 'post'. Many flashes of titles. The letters floating around those titles, trying to get colored in the myriad hues of emotions that they come swimming in. However, the circumstances have not allowed me to sit by and allow those letters to sequence themselves in a post of mine.

I started writing a post about a couple of months back. The notepad file where I pen my post bears evidence to that. Eerily it was the same location where I am now. I was riding the Metra from Downtown Chicago to Lake Forest, my present nest. These were the exact words,

"Copenhagen. San Francisco. Boston. In the interim, glimpses Los Angeles, Washington D.C. and New York. Now Chicago. I am lucky to get glimpses of these great cities. I write this post, while I sit in the Metra, going back to my abode in Lake Forest from Chicago downtown."

But thats the only lines that I could write. When I am not busy with work, my mind is too busy either hanging onto the past or bringing in the thoughts and worries of the future. Each day I realize, that my present is sinking in the abyss of my thoughts.

When I look at others, I see how much they get done.

I feel I do not get much done inspite of the burn around of my life. The intensity of my workplace does not help either. My penchant to get soaked in, also adds to the challenge. But my circumstances are just like any other. It is not so special and neither am I so special.

Then what?

Raindrops in the Eye

Chronologically enabled,
Technically challenged.
Vision mired in the past,
Path clouded by the future.
Blackle, Bing, Twitter, iPod,
Google and God.
The struggle and the dream,
The odd couple; strange bedfellows.
A substanceless high.


I was born in 1974 in the lap of luxury. We had a ubiquitous black telephone. Its number 2454568.

Dadu liked to acquire the latest wonders of technology. We had a radiogram, a Weston TV with shutters, a curd maker, and even a 'hifi' Konica camera.

Most would look at these and at other such technological wonders with awe. Interestingly, the same Dadu, never had a LIC policy or believed in the banking system.

Slowly, by the late seventies and early eighties, Dadu's affordability started dwindling. Left Front kept moving from the strength to strength and started empowering the poor. In West Bengal, poverty suddenly got fashionable and economic well being started to be looked down upon. If you could afford some luxuries, you better carry some guilt.

So as 'Jalsaghar' was being enacted in the reality of my house (and other Bengali houses as well), we had to let go most of our technological wonders. Some were sold of, some died its own death due to misuse or no use.

In 1986, Haley's comet came and took my grandfather along with it. Seventy six years ago, it had come and dropped him on earth.

In 1989 when I returned from my summer vacation, our last vestige of luxury, the blue Ambassador, was not to be found. We were just like any other commoner. Left Front's social program was having the desired success of achieving social equity.

There were still stray pieces of gadgets here and there. The picnic box, the huge white ice box, the Konica camera and my favorite air gun.

By the time I was in college, when we painted our house, the last memories of my past life faded behind the acrylic emulsion. Outside and inside the house, cable TV was making its inroad and the average man started believing in the stock market. VCR still remained in fashion.

In 1997, Shamik (Mitra) got a campus placement in Infosys. He still works there I believe. Y2K and other tech companies' name started ringing a bell.

All this while, Baba continued to remain faithful to his second wife - the much colored and much tampered 'Jawa'. For many years, it continued to provide blurred visions of the glorious days. With each of those visions, it brought thoughts of what could have been. Finally I let Baba down and he had to give away the Jawa a couple of years back.

In the interim, his huge aquarium (of 30 years) shrunk with the weight of time.

In 1999 June, Opu helped me open my first email account - kausik99@hotmail.com. Two months later came my first bank account, along with my first job and with that I got armed with my first ATM card. Till then I had a common account with Maa in the post office.

In Sep 1999, I actually flew for the first time.

It was an empty airbus 747 which Moon Moon Sen was trying to fill up. A month later, when I was flying back to Calcutta with Mamata Banerjee, I was marvelled at the sight of Calcutta from the top, bedecked in Durga Puja lights on a happy Soshti night. I believed that to be my last flight ever, and thus made sure I enjoyed it thoroughly.

After 25 similar flights and 12 months, my mother-in-law and everybody around me was convinced that I was ready for marriage. It was a different story, that no one knew I did not get my salary for three months leading to my marriage. Mun knew but she never bothered much about salary anyways. Along with my bride, in walked my own two wheeler as well.

In 2003 November, out of sheer boredom at work, I started blogging. I have tried to remain faithful to it and as a dear friend it has provided me the necessary release. Around the same time, our Jawa had the company of a pre-used Zen. I learnt driving soon and acquired my licence in 2004.

A year later in Pune, I used a cell phone for the first time. Needless to say, it was Opu's handset and his previous Pune number. 9880341085 was my first own mobile number which I got in Bangalore while working with ITC. In 2005, I finally bought my first handset.

In a lazy December morning of the same year, while sitting on the pot, I got tempted by a newspaper ad. By evening we had paid the booking amount for our car.

Nine months later, I realized my dream of setting foot on 'foreign' soil.

Three years have past since then. I even have a laptop, a 'wifi' broadband connection at home, 50 Euros and 116 Dollars in my wallet. In the interim, I have also acquired a digital camera and have experienced pay-per-view. I buy my tickets on the internet and recently flew to a holiday in a 5 star resort.

During my recent trip to US, I marvelled at the iPod. It is way beyond a smartphone. I even used a GPS for the first time. Two days back, I came to know about Blackle, and today I found out about Bing. Each day is incomplete without Google and Wiki. I love the concept of Twitter, Facebook and Orkut. But each day I balk at my lack of privacy in this digital neighbourhood.

While the world has changed, and India continues to skew on the developmental path, I continue to struggle to keep pace with things and feel technically challenged. But fortunately, I still continue to live the dream.

The Budding Photographer

One of June's favorite pastime at home is to take my mobile phone and click photos. Some of them are funny to look at. Some of them are pretty interesting. These are three photos that June clicked (completely unaided and undirected) during our trip to Goa. I have not edited them in any form.

Mun often complains that we (mun and me) don't have a good photograph together. I think we finally have a chance to have a few, if these are any proof to go by.

A Short and Sweet Trip

I had to pack my bags and leave within 48 hours. Destination? Boston.

I was excited. Boston was my enunciation to world history. I remember reading about the Boston Tea Party and also remembered that it had nothing to do with a party. But the rest was all hazy.

My first trip outside India in 2006 was full of apprehension. Piling up with 4 other married bachelors, indulging in currency conversion day and night, and being unsure about every step that I took and every word I heard.

However, Scandinavia will be forever etched in my memory as possibly the most refined part of the world. Unfortunately, I misused my 17 country visa and did'nt utilize the opportunity to travel around. As I realize now, there is no second chance.

The second trip in 2007-08 was different again. A luxurious apartment, a sexy project, a gorgeous city and first taste of independant living. However, I was still the rank outsider, the tourist.

I was still trying to get a hang of things, trying to make do with public transport and taking Amtrak to travel around. But I made sure I explored San Francisco inside out and some other parts in California as well.

This trip was a very different one though. I think I got the feel of the real US. It helped that I was paying taxes, and had a social security number. That brought in a diffidence. A diffidence that finally lead me to hire a car and drive around.

I traveled around the road quite a bit. So while I am ready to depart, while I sit at Boston Airport waiting for my flight, I feel good that I came to this part of US.

I walked the Freedom Trail, got splashed by the waters of Niagara, waved at the Statue of Liberty, warmed the red lit stairs of Times Square, kayaked the Charles river and cogged to the top of Mount Washington on the world's oldest cog railway.

I would think I made as much as I could of the short trip both personally and professionally. Life has come a full circle since my last trip outside India. The wheel looks round again. And I intend to circle on.

P.S. - I was sitting at Boston airport with no Internet connectivity. I publish this post four days later while I enjoy one of the perks of my current job.

Michael Jackson Withers Away

This one is a big news.

Every news channel in US had it as their breaking news. I am hearing all the interesting views and counterviews about the man, his legacy, his music and his misdemeanours. I would not go into that.

The only thing I would disagree is with the headlines that read "Michael Jackson Dies". Whenever, I have looked at Michael Jackson's photographs recently and read any news story about him, I always felt he truely crossed over from being a human being.

My fear was, like the fairy tale step mother, he would never die but would just wither away to dust in full public view, when the spell would finally be gone.

Each time I would look at him, I would fear his face would come-off, his hair would fall-off or his fingers would melt away. Like an unwell Mango, I would balk to look at this Man.

So, while the news and counterviews goes on, let's have the headlines changed.

Two Bright Spots

I read the TOI, epaper, today. As much as I deride it, I still cannot live without it. It helps me keep in touch with home but rarely gives me a moment of despair from being away from home.

However, two news stories touched my heart today - Kapil Sibal and Nandan Nilekani.

Kapil Sibal's education reform agenda will finally put education at the center of our national agenda. It will also enable HRD ministry to move away from the being a political tool of social mobilization.

Sibal's proposals are bold. I do not claim to have the expertise to judge them, however, the single school board plan definitely makes a lot of common sense. Having faced the wrong side of the sword, I know how easy my life would have been if this was in place during my schooling.

The second news about Nilekani heading the Unique Identification (UID) project is even more exciting. I recently got exposed to the US Social Security concept. I am also in awe of how the Scandinavian countries walk the talk when they call themselves a welfare state.

I have a hunch (since I do not have much knowledge of the scope of the UID project) that, if implemented successfully, the UID project will go a long way in stabilizing immigration and plug the leak in our social spending.

I need more such news stories to uncover the gloom.

Happy Birthday June!

June turns five today. A milestone, which I will miss. It's a strange feeling to be away from her birthday celebrations. So I take the liberty of getting a bit emotional.

A lot has happened in five years. I have changed three jobs, been away from home three times, seen my income grow threefold and most importantly, my marriage evolving each day and meandering through the challenges of time.

All of these five years, however, I have enjoyed watching June in her moments of growth. Each of those instances have been my moments of truth. I feel a step closer, as I etch those moments in my mind.

From her blank expressions, to her first responses to light and sound. From her motionless throwing of her legs, to her first turns on the bed. From her complete disinterest in walking, to my frantic chase behind her so that I could prevent her from running away in a crowded place.

In the interim she has changed three schools, and we have changed four homes. Her refusal to talk has now given way to non-stop blabber.

I was skimming through all her photographs today. Her first shot, the eyebrows cringed, in the hospital. I compared it with the most recent photograph, where she is looking into the camera, with an expression of naughtiness, almost talking to the camera.

Each day I look at her, I thank Mun, for forcing me into parenthood. It has been five memorable years right from the first moment when I was unable to figure out if the baby in the nurse's arms was a he or a she.

At that moment, when I held her in my arms, I was filled up with a sense of ownership. A connection which is not umbilical but deep and without description.

I hope life continues as it has and we as a family can stay rooted, to each other and to reality. Happy birthday June! You remind me of the need to have faith in life.

June's first photograph

One of our weekend activities.

Paying for Father's Sin

Today I was late by about 30 seconds for a training session in office. The intructor did not allow me to get in. I was embarrassed. While I was thinking about the episode my mind was forced back to the day when June was punished for arriving late for school. What happened with me today was very similar. I was held as an example so that the trend could be bucked.

In July 08, June, along with others, was made to catch her ears and sit up ten times in full view of the public. The sad part was that June was late because of me. I stood there watching my daughter getting punished for my sin (sloth in this case).

This load was pretty heavy to carry. It was the first time ever that June got punished in school.
Interestingly, the episode kept working on my mind throughout the day. I was wondering how would June take it? Would she feel insulted? Would she avoid going to school? Would she make sense of it? It would be difficult if I was her.

It is always illogical to be paying for others' sins. I called Mun in the evening to find out what did June had to say when she came back from school. June was fine. She did'nt even remember that she was punished. Infact, when spoke to her about it I had a hard time explaining

• What is punishment?
• Who gets punished?
• Who gives the punishment?
• How is someone punished?

I didnt have a clear answers to any of these larger questions.

Another Special Moment

I got a call on my mobile. It read "Home". Munmun is usually not back so early.

I said "Hello". She said "Hi Papa! I called by myself."

This is June's first independant phone call, completely unaided and unprompted.

26 03 2009 05:10pm my phone records as the time of the call. We talked for 4.06 mins.

Recently, I made her learn my phone number by heart so that she can get some lady to call me up incase she is lost. She used that memory to call me up.

Today I am just out from a Bloom's session. Is this level 5? I think so.

I have not given up...

... I have not given up. I don' think I can or would want to.



Time has not been the central factor. Inspiration has never been one too. However, when too many things happen it is difficult to sit down and pen any one thing. Thoughts keep criss-crossing and you finally entangle yourself while you write.



The recession is doing crazy things to my life. It is cutting down on my aggro, threatening to increase my patience levels, forcing me to look further inwards and making me feel more accountable for my present. By the way, I am quite convinced that we need these kinds of recession from time to time to check our excessive greed. My only worry is that I don't become the sacrificial goat.



So this is what's been happening.



I am still the little child perplexed to see the antics of others. I wonder how people do what they, desire what they desire, and how people has just stopped thinking.



I still remain self-critical and stooped in thoughts of "How could I do this?"



My most frustrating activity of the day is doing the 30-minute drive back and forth everyday. However, BBC's podcast is a great stress reliever during that time.



I have watched innumerable movies, the best being Road to Perdition. As Shailesh, one of my fellow colleague, says, "There is about 1500 weekends left to be used." Which means about 2500 movies before I die.



I also completed the Art of Living - Part 1 course and from Ramdev Baba's heavy duty pranayam have moved onto Sri Sri's Sudarshan Kriya - the 30 minute mind cleanser. While we all take a bath everyday, I am convinced our mind also needs a regular wash.



June continues to outgrow me each day. Some of the things that I have come to admire about her:

• Her desire to always take Mummy and Papa along. Though she is mama's child I don't ever feel neglected.


• Her ability to notice the little things and get curious.


• Her quality of never ever not listening to what I say and never trying to lie.


• And like any other child, she is still my best stress buster.

Her most recent demand is that she does'nt want to ever leave Ami teacher's class. She loves her so much you see.

I have read The Japanese Wife, To Kill a Mocking Bird and am now reading Anne Frank's Diary. I also finished the Hyderabad 10K marathon strongly and there were many moments of high while I was running.

My severe neck and knee pain is a gentle reminder that I am slowly moving on the wrong side of 30 and there would be one additional factor to consider going forward.

Lastly, I will end this piece with this photograph.

Kingshuk Som is second from left.

He completed his MBA and joined ICICI Bank. He recently got an award. We interact a lot and have seen each other grow. There are many parts of each other we don't like at all. We are poles apart in our personalities. And both of us have changed over the years as our respective lives have rolled on the different kinds of meadows.

When I looked at the photograph, I was wondering, "Is that him?" It would have been tough to visualize this photograph if he did'nt send this one to me. Somehow, it was this simple photograph which helped me overcome my second writers block.

Thank you, Lito, and I am proud of you as well.

Maa and Me

My present job and my current circumstances leaves me no space to breath. So that explains the trickle of my posts.

On 22nd May 2008 I became a year older. Undoubtedly it was my busiest birthday. I rushed out of home to reach in time for a call.

These days I drive to work. It takes me anywhere between an hour to an hour and fifteen minutes. A far cry from my beautiful walk to work in Bangalore and Kolkata.

Usually I touch the feet of my parents if they are around during my birthday. But in my hurry I forgot to do the same this time.

The day was so bad at work that I returned no less than 10.00 pm. June gave me my best birthday gift ever - a hand drawn joker. Thats her favourite drawing. Whenever she draws something meaningful it will be the joker with a hat. One of my colleagues, Devleena said "She pictures you." I hope that is true. I wish I can stay that way to her.

Mom and daughter planned a nice surprise but my late entry spoilt it a bit. The hand drawn birthday card had contributions from Baba and Mun as well. The shirt was just like I would have picked up.

June was singing the "Happy Birthday!" song. Her first reindition ".. happy birthday to papa." Her second ".. happy birthday to my papa." Her third ".. happy birthday to my dear papa." Today I asked her how much do you love me. She said as much as a train.

So while June was singing, Maa was silently watching, having fun and taking pride looking at her pride. But when June sang the last line "... may God bless you... may God bless you." I could feel a hand run down my head and someone adding to the chorus "... may God bless you.. may God bless you." That was Maa, looking for an opportunity to bless because I did'nt give her one in the morning nor remembered to give her one when I was back home.

That is so typical of how we have been right through my life. We rarely speak. We rarely show. By her own admission she has never bought a piece of chocolate for me ever. Niether has she admitted to have given me a kiss even when I was a chubby cheeks. There were times when we have not spoken for months. There have been times when she lost faith in me. But I don't think in the worst of our moments she ever gave up on me.

I have seen her grow as a mother during my awareness years. A brilliant student she was married at seventeen into a family where it was easy to get lost. It was the time when my grandfather was the king and the kingdom was ruled by her two daugthers. Today I have a sense of what she had gone through.

She often dreams that she is losing all her teeth. By her admission she has a weak heart. But I have seen her strength when we were going through the toughest of times as a family trying to make ends meet. She stood tall during our fall from grace. Bit by bit the pieces have been put back in place.

She was the neo-conservative mother of the 1980s when the sight of a girl around her son was a sacrilege. Egged on by my grandmother she kept a close watch on her straying son. But I saw the same Maa rock so well with my unwed girl friend. Since then I have also seen her transform as a mother-in-law.

I still remember when she touched my head when I came back from Bangalore, my dream completely shattered. Now each day, when I drive out of our apartment she stands at one corner of our balcony watching over me. Each day, I am sure, during that moment she prays to God for me and for us. One of the few solaces in life is that she will not stop praying ever.

Cognitive Dissonance

I admire Lord Krishna and I admire Bill Clinton but I wasnt sure why. Now I know -Cognitive Dissonance. A small excerpt from an article I was reading in The Economist.

Born a modestly well-off villager, Mao lived like an emperor, carried on litters by peasants, surrounded by concubines and placated by everyone. Yet his most famous slogan was “Serve the People”. This paradox illustrates one aspect of his brilliance: his ability to justify his actions, no matter how entirely self-serving, as being done for others.

Psychologists call this “cognitive dissonance”—the ability to make a compelling, heartfelt case for one thing while doing another. Being able to pull off this sort of trick is an essential skill in many professions. It allows sub-standard chief executives to rationalise huge pay packages while their underlings get peanuts (or rice).

But Mao did not just get a stamp from a compliant board and eye-rolling from employees. He convinced his countrymen of his value. That was partly because, even if his message bore no relation to his actions, it expressed precisely and succinctly what he should have been doing.

The Highs of Fatherhood

June's first complete portrait drawn without any assistance or any external trigger.

June surprises me and in turn I surprise myself.

Its easy to gloat about your kid's achievements because its a definite high. And sometimes when you are narrating her escapades to others you tend to exaggerate. I admit I did that a few times. But thats taking nothing away from what glimpses June has given till now.

So while I hear this soulful collection of music on pandora.com I was tempted to mull over the highs of being a father.

Inspite of the fact that I could not identify whether "it" was a boy or girl, holding my own child for the first time was nothing less than orgasmic.

My vision was blurred, the sounds around me dimmed out and my only sensation was in my hand. And then when she gave her first irritated look at my attempt to take her first photo I was ecstatic. She was human after all.

From then on there have been numerous "highs". Like the first time she actually smiled at me.

Initially it was more about the physical firsts like crawling, walking, running or falling down. Each moment like these and many more are snapped in my memory.

Slowly as she has grown up I am seeing the human in her getting shaped (or deshaped!!). Her ideas of a bad girl. The differentiators between a boy and a girl. Her sense of style. Her choice of taste. Her appreciation of sound. Her fascination about some colours. Her recognition of shapes. Even her response to different sounds. Her mimicry of others. Most importantly her grace. Her likes or her dislikes.

And each moment I can see I am already starting to judge her around the choices that she shows. Is she like me? Is she like her mom? Is she like someone else? But at the end of the day, she is like herself. She is June.

There will be more to come I am sure. So while she grows up I hope I can sit back and enjoy the show. Good luck June! Each day you are arriving a little more.

One of June's Favourite Song

So it is her parents'





He would always win the fight

Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

Seasons came and changed the time
When I grew up, I called him mine
He would always laugh and say
"Remember when we used to play?"

Bang bang, I shot you down
Bang bang, you hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, I used to shoot you down.

Music played, and people sang
Just for me, the church bells rang.

Now he's gone, I don't know why
And till this day, sometimes I cry
He didn't even say goodbye
He didn't take the time to lie.

Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down...

P.S. - Fortunately June doesnt understand a word of it...